I Learned to Give Him What He Asked Me For Most

Marcos had been asking me for it for almost a year. He wasn’t pushy; that wasn’t his style. He’d bring it up every now and then, between the sheets, in that deep voice he used when he was really worked up.

—Someday you’re going to give me some good rides —he’d say, smiling with that calm that always undid me.

And I’d smile back, kiss him, and go back to getting on all fours or straddling him the usual way. The positions I already knew, the ones that were comfortable, the ones that always worked. But riding him—standing and sitting down rhythmically on him, letting his cock go in and out of my ass with my own weight doing all the work—wore me out after two minutes.

It was pure lack of training. I knew it. The problem wasn’t pain or position; it was that my thigh and glute muscles couldn’t sustain that movement. I’d go up, down, up, down, feeling his dick sink into and out of my ass over and over, and after two minutes my legs were already shaking and I had to stop, leaving him with his cock hard, shiny with lube, and my ass clenched halfway to cumming. Marcos never complained, but I could see on his face that he hadn’t gotten where he wanted to go, that he was left wanting to unload deep inside while I rode him without restraint.

I decided I had to practice.

***

I work from home three days a week. Graphic design for a small agency, which means I spend hours in front of the computer adjusting fonts and reviewing mockups. It’s a job that requires concentration but not movement. And that turned out to be the perfect combination for what I had in mind.

The following Tuesday, before opening my laptop, I took the medium dildo out of the nightstand drawer. Not the big one—it wasn’t time for heroics—but the one I use when I want to get warmed up without too much ceremony. A thick silicone cock, veined, with a pronounced head that felt exactly like a real dick when I worked my way onto it. I fixed it to the seat of the desk chair with the suction-cup base I’d had tucked away for months, unused. I left the lube within reach and opened the first email of the day.

I pulled down my sweatpants, squirted a good amount of lube onto my fingers, and worked it slowly into my ass, first one finger, then two, circling them until I felt the muscle give way. I coated the dildo until it was gleaming and sat down on it very slowly, legs open on either side of the chair, feeling the silicone head force its way in and the shaft fill me centimeter by centimeter until my ass touched the seat. I let out the breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding. The dildo was all the way inside me. That had never been the problem.

I started working. I answered three emails, reviewed a poster mockup, drank a coffee. And all the while the silicone cock was there, buried in me, reminding me why I’d put it there. Every time I shifted a little in the chair, I felt it brush against my prostate and a silent gasp slipped out of me. When I leaned forward to read something on the screen, the angle changed and the head pressed right against the spot that made my balls tighten. It was a constant presence, not annoying, but strangely soothing, with the cock dripping precum onto my thighs without me having to touch it.

By midmorning I started with the movements. Small at first, almost imperceptible. I’d lift myself two or three centimeters and lower back down, feeling the dildo barely slip out and then sink back in. I wasn’t looking for depth or intense friction; I was looking for resistance. I wanted my thighs to get used to the effort, my glutes to learn how to hold the motion without collapsing. It was more exercise than pleasure, though pleasure showed up anyway, discreet and steady, a low ember in my gut that never went out. Every drop back down sent a brief shiver up my spine, and by the time I finished the first hour I had a long thread of precum dripping from my cock onto the seat and my balls pressed tight against the silicone.

The first day I managed about twenty minutes of intermittent movement before my legs started shaking. I filed that away mentally. The second day I made it to twenty-five. The third, thirty-two. I came without touching myself twice that week, hands still on the keyboard, biting my lip so I wouldn’t moan out loud while semen splattered my T-shirt and the rubber cock stayed buried deep in my ass.

***

The second week I added variations. Some days I moved my hips in circles instead of up and down, rubbing my ass against the base of the dildo, feeling the cock turn inside me and hit new spots. Other days I rose until only the tip stayed inside, with my sphincter tight around the head, and then dropped in one controlled motion, impaling myself to the hilt in a single movement that drew a muffled groan out of me. I learned to relax my ass on the way down so the motion would be smoother, more natural, without that involuntary clench that slowed me down. I also learned to tighten on the way up, to milk the imaginary cock with my ass as if I meant to wring the cum out of it.

I also discovered something I hadn’t expected: working with something inside me reduced the tension in my back. The hours at the computer weighed less on me. I moved more, adjusted my posture more often, and time passed differently. I changed dildos depending on the day. The medium one for long mornings, a thinner, curved one when I wanted to work the prostate alone, and, on the odd day, the big one, the one I almost never used, to force myself to endure the stretch without getting distracted. I ended the workday with my ass open, throbbing, and a feeling of emptiness when I finally stood up from the chair.

I started to look forward to work-from-home days with something close to impatience.

***

The following week something happened that still makes me laugh when I remember it.

It was Wednesday, around noon, and I’d been on the dildo in the chair for an hour while reviewing the redesign of a restaurant website. I was focused on the color palette—whether the green was too dark, whether the text size was readable on mobile—and at the same time I was moving with that slow, steady rhythm that was already starting to feel natural, the silicone cock going in and out of my ass while I chose shades of green.

The phone vibrated on the desk. It was my mother.

I hesitated for a second. Then I answered.

—Yes, Mom?

—Honey, how are you? I called you yesterday and you didn’t pick up.

—I was in a meeting —I said. It wasn’t a lie; that morning I really had had a call with the client.

—And what are you doing now? Are you busy?

I went very still for a moment. The dildo was still buried to the base in my ass. The chair had a slight forward tilt that made the head press against my prostate.

—No, don’t worry —I replied, keeping my voice steady—. I’m working, but I can talk.

And I talked. My mother told me the plumber had taken three days to fix the bathroom leak, that my cousin had had a baby, and that they’d painted the streetlights in the village an awful color. I nodded, asked questions, answered normally. And all the while I kept moving, very slowly, lifting myself a couple of centimeters and lowering back down, feeling the rubber cock fuck my ass with just enough slowness that I wouldn’t gasp into the phone. At one point a spasm slipped out of me and I had to grit my teeth; my mother didn’t notice a thing, just kept talking about the streetlights. The cock dripped precum onto my stomach while I agreed with everything she said.

When I hung up, twenty minutes later, I sat staring at the screen with burning cheeks and my ass pulsing around the silicone.

If she only knew.

***

Three weeks of practice. Every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday I was home. By Friday my legs felt lighter on the stairs. My glutes felt firmer to the touch. And most importantly: when I mounted the dildo with purpose, I could keep the pace for more than forty minutes without my legs trembling, going up and down like a machine, milking the silicone cock with my ass as if I truly meant to squeeze the cum out of it.

I was ready.

***

The opportunity came on a Thursday. Marcos walked through the door at eight in the evening looking like he’d had one of those days when everything goes wrong. He works in logistics, and sometimes there are weeks when things simply pile up. I watched him drop his bag on the floor with a dull thud, take off his jacket without folding it, and sit down on the sofa staring off at nothing.

I went over, sat beside him, and rested my head on his shoulder.

—What happened?

—Nothing serious —he said—. Just that today everything went backwards.

—Are you hungry?

—Not yet.

I got up without saying anything else, went to the bedroom, and took the lube out of the drawer. When I came back to the living room, Marcos was still on the sofa with his eyes closed. I knelt in front of him and started unbuckling his belt.

He opened his eyes.

—What are you doing?

—Taking your stress away —I answered.

He didn’t protest.

I pulled his pants and underwear down to his ankles. His cock started swelling just from that alone, just from the anticipation and the silence of the room, rising thick against his stomach with a vein running down the shaft that I knew by heart. I took it in my hand, squeezing the base, and ran my tongue from his balls to the head in one long, wet lick. Marcos let out a hoarse groan. I took the tip into my mouth, sucked it slowly, tasting the first salty drop of precum leaking from the slit. Then I swallowed it whole, until I felt the head at the back of my throat and his balls against my chin.

Marcos leaned his head back against the sofa and let out a deep sound, almost a roar, rising from the bottom of his chest. I grabbed his balls with my other hand and massaged them carefully while I moved my mouth up and down his cock, letting saliva run down the shaft and soak his scrotum. I sucked his dick for several minutes, deliberately gagging on it every now and then so he could feel my throat closing around him, pulling it out with a string of saliva hanging from it and taking it back in to the root.

Enough to make him fully hard, his cock shining with my spit, throbbing in my hand, and to make the tension in his shoulders start to ease. Then I stopped, stood up, and pulled down the sweatpants I was wearing. No underwear underneath. I’d prepared before he got home: a shower, three fingers’ worth of lube, and some time with the medium dildo to leave my ass open and ready.

Marcos looked at me and licked his lips when he saw my hard cock dripping between my legs.

—What are you planning? —he asked, his voice already different, hoarse, dark.

—You’ll see.

I put on the lube calmly, facing him so he could watch. I slicked up two fingers and shoved them into my ass up to the knuckles, pulling them out and pushing them back in with my mouth slightly open, looking him in the eyes. Marcos clenched his jaw and gripped his cock with his hand, giving himself two slow strokes as he watched me prepare. Then I moved closer to the sofa, placed one knee on each side of his thighs, took his cock in my hand, and positioned it at the entrance to my ass.

I lowered myself slowly.

I felt the head forcing its way in, the familiar pressure of the muscle giving, and then the whole shaft sliding into me, centimeter by centimeter, until my ass cheeks were crushed against his thighs and his balls touched my perineum. He let out a sound that was neither moan nor word, something between the two, and his whole belly trembled. I closed my eyes for a moment when I felt him slide all the way in, filling me completely, and I clenched my ass around his cock until Marcos hissed through his teeth. Then I opened them and looked at his face.

—Like this? —I asked.

Marcos had his mouth slightly open and his hands on my hips.

—Yeah —he said—. Exactly like that. Ride me.

I started moving.

At first slowly. Very slowly. Rising almost all the way, leaving only the head trapped by my sphincter, and lowering with control, impaling myself to the hilt, letting him feel every millimeter of his cock traveling inside my ass. Marcos gritted his teeth but said nothing, just watched me with that intense focus he gets when he’s really aroused, eyes fixed on the point where his dick disappeared inside me. His hands on my hips weren’t guiding me; they were just resting there, feeling the movement.

I picked up the pace.

Now the sound was different, denser, more constant: the wet slap of lube, the dull thud of my ass against his thighs, my ragged breathing and his deep grunts every time I swallowed his cock to the base. I felt the pleasurable burn inside, the exact pressure on the spot that stole my breath at moments, the prostate massaged on each drop by Marcos’s thick head. My own cock bounced against my stomach, hard and dripping, spattering both of us with threads of precum. My legs were responding. That was the most surprising thing: my legs were responding without complaint, without shaking, without asking me to stop. Weeks of silent practice in front of the computer, and now my body knew exactly what to do, up and down, tighten on the way up, relax on the way down, milk his cock with my ass like I had taught myself to.

—Fuck —Marcos growled through his teeth—. Fuck, don’t stop.

His voice had changed. It was the voice he uses when he’s close. Deep, restrained, as if he were speaking from somewhere very far inside.

—Fuck me —I said, and I barely recognized my own voice—. Tear my ass up, Marcos.

I didn’t stop. I picked up the pace even more, riding him hard, dropping onto his cock with all my weight and lifting right back up. I smacked his ass without thinking, more out of instinct than anything else, and he laughed for a second before pleasure wiped the smile from his face. He grabbed my glutes with both hands, spread them to drive deeper into me, and started setting the rhythm from below, thrusting up into me every time I came down, seating his cock in the depths of my ass with short, precise movements that knocked his balls against my perineum.

—Look how you’re swallowing it —he gasped, eyes locked on where we were joined—. Look how it goes all the way in.

I came without touching myself.

It surprised even me. The internal pressure, the sustained motion, Marcos’s head hammering my prostate with every thrust, his gaze fixed on me as I moved on top of him, his fingers sinking into my ass cheeks: all of it together reached a point I didn’t see coming until I was already there, and then it was like a wave I couldn’t—and didn’t want to—stop. My whole ass clenched around his cock, squeezing it in spasms, and my cock started firing ropes of semen without anyone touching it, splashing his chest, his shirt, his throat. I leaned forward, braced my hands on his shoulders, and let him shake me from top to bottom, moaning against his mouth as the orgasm emptied me out.

—I’m cumming, fuck, I’m cumming inside —Marcos growled a few seconds later, his hands squeezing my hips hard enough to hurt, ramming up into me with three, four sharp strokes that drove his cock right up to my throat.

I felt his cock pulse, swelling inside me, and then the heat of his load shooting against my walls, one burst after another, filling my ass with a wet sound I’d recognize anywhere. I stayed still on top of him, letting him finish, feeling each spasm unload more semen inside me. When he finally relaxed, he was still hard, still buried to the hilt, and I gave his cock one last squeeze with my ass as a farewell. My legs were trembling slightly, but for different reasons than before.

***

We stayed like that for a while without speaking, his cock softening inside me and his cum starting to slowly leak out around my ass whenever he shifted.

The living room was quiet. From the street came the distant sound of a car passing. Marcos ran his hand up and down my back, that slow gesture he makes when he’s completely relaxed and doesn’t need anything else.

—When did you learn that? —he asked at last.

I laughed against his neck.

—I’ve been practicing.

—With who?

—Alone —I said—. With patience and a lot of free time.

He seemed like he wanted to ask something else, but he held back. He kissed my temple, then my cheek, then my mouth. A long, calm kiss, the kind that wants nothing more than to just be there, his cum still dripping down the insides of my thighs.

—Thank you —he said when he pulled away—. I really needed that.

—Better than stress?

—What stress?

I got up carefully, feeling his cock slip out of my ass with a wet sound and a string of cum sliding down the inside of my thigh. I went to the bathroom to clean up, and when I came back to the living room, he’d already picked up the clothes from the floor and had his phone in hand, looking for somewhere to order food.

—Do you want to get something? —he asked.

—Whatever you want.

We ordered Thai food and ate it on the sofa, legs entwined, watching a series neither of us was really following. Marcos had one hand on my knee. I had my head on his shoulder and was thinking about Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays in front of the computer, with the silicone cock buried deep in my ass.

Weeks of silent practice. Worth it.